


No Bad Touching

by Polly_Phemus (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Episode Related, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, One Shot, discussion of incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:19:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11579805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Polly_Phemus
Summary: Sam hits the road again in "Scarecrow" partly because things are reminding him a little too much of life before Stanford, but this time walking away is not an option.  In discussing matters with Dean, Sam realizes that just wanting something can be almost as bad as taking it.Content warning: Sam and Dean talk about incest but none actually happened/happens and  Sam infers that Dean may have been sexually abused by someone other than John but does not seek confirmation.





	No Bad Touching

Sam had to leave. It was too much: the bickering, the anger, the little looks Dean kept shooting him...it was like his adolescence all over again only now he had solid suspicions rather than vague but relentless unease. The last straw was talking to John, feeling a momentary hope that maybe things could be somewhat all right, that there could be forgiveness, only to have that snatched away from him when Dean took the phone. 

And turned into Daddy's Little Soldier, which made Sam's stomach roil with disgust and anger. This is your life, Sam Winchester, ages fourteen to eighteen, presented to you in one convenient vignette.

So he left. Again. Only to find that the decision that was the right one when he was seventeen and followed through on when he was eighteen wasn't the right one at all when he was twenty-two. Not only wrong, but impossible. It wasn't just that he'd taken on John's cause as his own after Jessica's death, it was that Jess had taught him how to be a better man and walking away from Dean was dishonoring her memory and the legacy she'd given him.

They saw Emily off at the bus station and drove as far as they could in the opposite direction before crashing in East St. Louis. Of course they had to share a bed, Sam thought darkly as they took the last room at a Motel Six after trying four other places. Why should his luck change now?

Dean was clearly tired but Sam needed to have it out with him and knew that he should work that exhaustion to his advantage, which made him hate himself just a little bit more, but he really did believe it was for the greater good.

"Good to have you back, Sammy," Dean said as they settled in for the night. "Warmer this way."

"Dean," Sam said, not bothering to correct the name, his mind doing the ugly calculation that adding Dean thinking of him as a kid to Dean being tired resulted in Dean being particularly vulnerable. "I have to know...did Dad ever....?"

"What?" Dean said and, yeah, he was wide awake now and knew exactly what Sam was talking about.

"Did he ever.... Look, I was just a kid but I wasn't innocent. I could tell that he wanted to."

"No, Sam," Dean barked out. 

"You know he did," Sam said quietly. 

"He didn't."

Sam sighed. He didn't want to play an endless game of obfuscation and denial.

"He didn't touch me," Dean clarified. "Not that way, not once, not ever."

"But he wanted to."

"Oh, yeah," Dean said bitterly. "He wanted to. Why do you think he drank so much? Why do you think he kept running out on us? Because of me."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Sam said. "Whatever Dad felt," and thank God he'd managed, however badly, not to act on the feelings he hadn't been able to hide, "that wasn't on you, that was on him."

"Yeah, Sam, got that memo from Uncle Bobby years ago."

"Bobby knew?"

"If _you_ knew, you think Bobby Singer wouldn't?"

Well, that made perfect sense. Sam thought it over, reviewing the times Bobby had run interference for him, realizing that he'd done what he could for Dean and John, too, and tried to give Dean a father figure who was steady, who didn't want things from his pseudo-son no father should want.

"It changed after you went to Stanford," Dean said. "He got much better at hiding it. Until just a few months before he disappeared. Then he started to fall apart, I don't know why, and we hadn't been spending much time around each other by then. But he wanted to hunt together again. At first it was great, but then he started looking at me again and I knew that if it had ever stopped, it had sure as hell started up again."

"God, Dean."

"Yeah. And I'll tell you something, Sam, something you probably already guessed: I would've. If he had asked, I would have."

"And he knew that, and he didn't ask."

"No. He didn't ask and then he disappeared."

"Jesus."

"So, since we're baring my soul here, the answer is yes, Sam."

"Wait, what? You just told me in great detail that it was no."

"No about Dad ever doing anything wrong to me. Yes to you, Sam. If that's what you want, you can have it."

Sam recoiled, feeling sick. "Dean, that's not...."

"Isn't it?" Dean asked, cold and relentless. "Isn't that the point of this whole conversation? Isn't that why you've been digging at me for months now? Trying to wear me down? Why you wanted to shoot me? Why you left?"

Sam felt the questions like body blows. "It wasn't..." he started weakly but then had to stop because what if it was? What if his reaction to Dean's blind obedience to John wasn't disgust or anger at how willing Dean was to be used by John but jealousy that Dean wasn't that compliant to Sam? 

"No," Sam said forcefully. "I left because I could see it all happening again, you knuckling under to Dad when you're so much better than that. I don't want you, Dean. I said it before: You're my brother and I love you and I'd die for you."

"But you have to have some secrets."

"Yeah. Some privacy. But it's not about sex, Dean."

"Then what is it about, Sam? Because our little coalition of the willing isn't working out too well right now and if you won't tell me what's going on it's only going to get worse."

"Can't," Sam said. "Not won't. I just...I can't tell you. But it isn't that."

"Okay then," Dean said. "Can we sleep now?"

"Yeah," Sam said, relieved that Dean was willing to let that particular issue drop. "Just...I'm glad, Dean. I'm glad it never got that bad for you." Sam winced in the darkness as soon as the words were out. Things had been plenty bad even if John had managed never to take that final step.

"Chick flick moment, Sammy. Go to sleep."

Sam reached for Dean, wanting to hug him, give them both the physical proof that they were in this together.

Dean resisted. "Mixed signals," he told Sam. "You just said you didn't want me for that, and I believe you, but now...."

Images cycled through Sam's mind as a different set of calculations started adding up. On some deep level, his brother didn't understand that physical contact didn't have to be about sex or violence. Sam's adult self looked at his brother's younger self: beautiful and sulky and defiant and damaged and so, so vulnerable to every kind of monster there was. He'd assumed John hadn't started looking at Dean that way until Dean was eighteen or so because that was when Sam first started to notice it, but maybe it had been earlier. And maybe it hadn't been just John, and maybe there had even been someone who _had_ acted on their feelings, but it was too much for Sam to process let alone try to discuss with Dean.

"I didn't mean it like that," Sam said. "I'll take the floor."

Dean didn't object. As Sam settled down on the floor, he was glad of the physical discomfort. Rationally, he knew that it didn't mean anything, but he was still grateful for the scratchy carpet covering hard flooring. Because he really would do anything for Dean and this was just one small way to show Dean that he didn't have to do everything for Sam.


End file.
